


Die By The Sword

by sasha_b



Series: Live By The Sword [30]
Category: King Arthur (2004), Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-15 06:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2219454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All things must end.  Arthur mourns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Die By The Sword

**Author's Note:**

> This is the last piece I wrote in this series before I knew I was going to keep writing it. 
> 
> This whole series was/is written out of order, and I will post the rest in the order that I wrote them still - but I stopped listing titles on my live journal with this story.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who's read this version of Arthur and Lance.

“I will always serve Rome.”  
~Maximus, Gladiator

 

He stared at the simple headstone, the words memorized, not needing to read them. But he did; read them over and over again, like he had been doing for the past three hours.

 

_Lancelot Benoit_  
July 18th, 2020 – August 4th, 2052  
Brother, son, friend. 

_Requiscat in Pace_

 

Arthur traced the writing til his fingers hurt. 

 

“Why are you here?”

 

His heart ached at the tone in that voice, and he turned. The sky was purpling, the birds still calling to each other, and the fragrance of lillies and roses scented the air. He could catch a whiff of cottonwood every once in while as well.

 

Guinevere faced him, her hair lank, her simple clothing making her look young. So young Arthur had to do a double take. Out of habit, he looked for her brother there as well, and had to swallow heavily when he didn’t see him.

 

“Guin,” he answered plainly, and turned his gaze back to the grave. It was covered in flowers; he was pretty sure every family in the Los Angeles area had sent something. He wasn’t sure how many of them had actually come by.

 

Lancelot’s sister stood next to him, and he felt her cross her arms, felt the anger and overwhelming sadness rising off her. She was skinnier than normal, but then again Arthur hadn’t seen her in months. Perhaps a year, unless one counted television. Her head cocked, her breath ghosting toward him. He could smell gin and cigarettes. “You didn’t answer me, Arthur,” she said calmly, hiding the emotion he knew was just below the surface, waiting to erupt.

 

“You have to ask?” he replied. She knew what he was doing. He thought perhaps she might be angrier if she hadn’t found him there.

 

“You weren’t at the service,” she kept on, accusingly, her voice taking on a whiny tone that made Arthur cringe slightly. He nodded.

 

They stared at the headstone.

 

“Why weren’t you there?”

 

He whirled to face her, his control suddenly stolen by something bigger than the both of them. “I couldn’t, Guin. I just," he stopped abruptly, his face twisted, her body jerking back from his. He was instantly contrite, but didn’t apologize. He raked a hand through his unruly hair, and scrubbed at the three day old stubble that decorated his face.

 

“You look like shit,” Guin stated, and he nodded again. No contest there. 

 

He regarded her finally, jeans, black lacy top and sunglasses. Flat shoes. He laughed unexpectedly when he noticed the star logo on their sides.

 

“You still have those?” he asked.

 

“Of course,” she answered, offended. “You think I’d get rid of them? These things never go out of style. You should know, considering you have a pair just like me and La…”

 

She trailed off, unable to say the name. Arthur was very glad she hadn’t.

 

“I kept the earrings you gave me,” she added, in a whisper that sounded like glass grating together to Arthur’s worn senses. One corner of his mouth twitched; he was glad she had kept the diamonds too. His were currently in his pocket, but he wasn’t telling her that.

 

“Will you come see me?” she turned to him, and placed her hand on his forearm. It was light and Arthur suspected he could snap it in two if he chose.

 

“I’ll try.”

 

They both knew the real answer to that.

 

She patted his arm once, awkwardly, then made to go. She hesitated. “Arthur,” she called out. He tilted his head, and could see her out of the corner of his eye.

 

She pushed the sunglasses to her hair, the browish/blond strands out of her face. “I still have that picture in my mind of you in that pinstriped suit, laughing with me, sweat on your face, the worry gone out of it for once. That’s you to me. Not the hard assed cop who let my brother die before his time.”

 

Arthur stood still as a statue, then lifted one shoulder in agreeance.

 

She made a small noise of helplessness, then:

 

“He loved you. More than you’ll ever be able to realize. More than perhaps you deserved. But there it is,” she sighed, pulled the glasses back on, and walked out of his life.

 

Arthur didn’t challenge her statement, didn’t run after her or cry and call her a bitch. He knew she was right, except for the fact that he thought he had known how much Lancelot had loved him. 

 

He just thought he wasn’t able to do enough to deserve it. He had failed Lance enough times to be sure of that. 

 

By the time he looked up from the headstone, it was full dark, and the caretaker was beginning to come around the cemetary. He gave Arthur a strange glance, then kept on going. The old man had seen enough in the news to know who Arthur was, so he didn’t interrupt his mourning.

 

Arthur sucked in a breath through his nostrils, the cottonwood making him dizzy, then blew it out through his mouth. He kneeled in the flower covered dirt in front of Lancelot’s grave, and dug in his pocket.

 

The tiny diamond studs glittered a bit in the gloom, and then they were gone, buried in the soft dirt at the base of the marble.

 

He had thought briefly of bringing Lance’s badge, but he couldn’t bear to part with it. Not yet. He had a burgeoning idea forming in the back of his mind in regards to the badge, but it was so new and so strange a thought he wasn’t sure if it was born from his mind or from some nightmare. He’d think more on that later. Right now, he had to be going. He had his retirement to think of, and his men to help reassign. It was the least he could do. The PD had set him up with a great pension, considering all the work he had done for them, and considering who his father had been.

 

He stood, and took a few steps back toward the front gate. He bit his lip, he looked around, he shuffled his feet. Something wasn’t right. He glanced down at his fingers that had been tracing the words on Lancelot’s headstone, and then it snapped into place.

 

There was a bit of blood there, his forefinger torn from the rough stone. He turned, walked back to the marker, smearing the blood around his palm.

 

He slapped his hand to the portion of the headstone that had Lancelot’s name engraved into it, making sure to rub it in.

 

“Lancelot," he said quietly. “Yours, forever.”

 

This time he turned and didn’t look back.


End file.
